Today
is another atypically toasty day. A warm wind whisks away the typical fall
chill. I throw my laptop and my Bible in the car and head for my favorite
hideaway. Last time I was here, watching crayfish, a high summer sun baked the
lichen-covered outcroppings and glinted off the deep green leaves. The wind
spoke soothing words of long summer days to come. Today the sun rides low in
the southern sky. Crisping leaves tell the story of impending cold, but their
showy colors soften the blow.
The
sugar maples are always first to strut their stuff. They make their seasonal
debut in deep red, rich gold, bright orange and soft peach hues. The sumacs are
dressed in their fall best with colors that graduate from gold to red, all on
one plant. The pines, in their rich green fur coats, stand in complementary
contrast to their boldly clad counterparts. Even they shed some unwanted gold
needles. The birches, poplars and oaks, however, are still sporting their green
gowns. It takes them a little longer to change out of their summer clothing,
but they’ll best dressed in their fall best soon, too.
The
oaks are another matter altogether. They’ll be the last to change color and
stubbornly cling to their dead leaves, many of them until their new leaves
sprout in the spring. Perhaps God granted them a slightly longer season because
they take so long to grow and mature.
Today
I feel like one of those green oak trees… slow to change, slow to grow. I’ve
trusted in God most of my life. He has been working diligently to make me more
Christ-like but I must confess, I haven’t always been very cooperative. Sure,
I’ve grown and changed through the years. I say less, listen more, and
understand God better. But I have so far to go. And progress seems painfully
slow. Since my lifespan is closer to a birch’s than an oak’s, it’d be great if
I could grow as fast as a birch, too!
There
are some advantages to being an oak tree, though. Oaks put down deep,
life-giving roots that help them stand through storms and fires and droughts. I
hope I’m as sturdy as an oak, able to withstand the stuff of life. Paul
exhorted the Colossians, “Therefore, as you have received Christ Jesus the
Lord, so walk in Him, having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him
and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing
with gratitude.” (Colossians 2:6,7)
Maybe
you’re like me – a little slow to grow but with roots in the fertile soil of
faith. I pray, by God’s mercy, our roots will hold. He will continue building us
up in Him until our dying day… still incomplete and imperfect until we stand
face to face with our Savior… and then complete only in Him. In the years
ahead, may our overflowing gratitude be evidenced by more obedience, more
submission, and more change “to the praise of the glory of His grace which He
freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.”
(Ephesians 1:6)
Today,
after the fog lifts, heavy dew covers every living, and non-living thing. An
orb-weavers web, woven in perfect symmetry, is be-jeweled with dewdrops, each a
tiny prism glinting in the rising sun. Each pine needle threatens to shed a
tiny tear. Each blade of grass is damp. Dew pools and trickles down the
granary’s metal roof. It sounds like a
slow rain dripping into the puddles below.
Before the big flood, this was God’s preferred method of watering the earth. It must have been quite a conundrum for Noah. He was supposed to build an ark to prepare for a flood which would result from rain, which had never happened before. By faith, he spent 100+ years building the gargantuan cargo carrier, believing God was serious about sending this mysterious thing called rain.
All
the while he worked, he was ridiculed by the very people he was trying to
convince to come into the ark with him. Talk about tenacity! I have a hard time
sticking with a project for several weeks. And ridicule makes me want to curl
up in a ball and cry. In the infamous words of George McFly, “I’m not sure I
could handle that kind of rejection.” (Back
to the Future) I’m glad God, the animals and humankind weren’t counting on
me to save the day. The story might have ended much differently.
I
think the same thing when I watch the movie Amazing
Grace. William Wilburforce spent most of his adult life fighting for the abolition
of slavery in Great Britain. It cost him his health, which he willingly
sacrificed to fulfill his God-ordained task. He died just three days after he’d
won the battle. But what if he’d grown weary and quit fighting? Or what if he’d
refused to take on the battle in the first place?
What if
Abraham hadn’t been willing to sacrifice Isaac? What if Joseph hadn’t been faithful
through trials? What if Moses hadn’t returned to Egypt to lead the Israelites
out? What if Joshua and Caleb hadn’t believed they could take the land of
Canaan? What if David hadn’t taken on Goliath? What if Joseph had decided
against taking Mary and Jesus to Egypt for safety? What if Jesus hadn’t died on
the cross?
In
each plot climax, the protagonist had a choice to make. Will I obey God or will
I disobey? As the storyline unfolds, it’s clear their obedience brought God’s
favor not only on them, but on those near them, and sometimes on generations to
come. Had any of them chosen disobedience, the story would read like a
Shakespearean tragedy.
Joshua
issued a challenge to the Israelite people as they entered Canaan. “If it is
disagreeable in your sight to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves today whom
you will serve: whether the gods which your fathers served beyond the River, or
the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; as for me and my house,
we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15)
The
challenge is ours, as well. If we chose to serve the Lord, it’s not long before
we realize it isn’t always an easy choice. Sometimes the tasks God assigns us
seem overwhelming or impossible. We want to shrink away. But obeying and
persevering are vital. Our choices may not change the course of history, but they’ll
undoubtedly change the courses of our lives.
Obedience
invites God’s blessings; on ourselves, our households, and even future generations.
Disobedience can inadvertently turn an action adventure into a tragedy. But even
then God shows His mercy. He rewrites our
tragic stories with happy endings.
Today late morning sunlight
seeps through a crevice in the clouds. It burns off the foggy residue of a
cool, fall night and highlights the heavy dewdrops clinging to every surface.
In the crook of a tree
limb, a spider web’s bejeweled strands sparkle. It’s alluring. But as beautiful
as it is, it’s a trap. The architect is probably resting somewhere nearby, just
waiting for an unwitting insect to fly by and become the evening’s entrée.
Once a bug flies into
the web, it’s stuck. It will struggle for a while, thinking it can free itself
from its thin, seemingly harmless bonds. But the sticky web will hold it in
place until the spider returns — unless something or someone intervenes.
That’s how sin works.
Satan weaves an attractive web of deceit, then settles in to watch and wait for
us to get caught in sin’s trap. The father
of lies makes the sinful choices we’re entertaining look so attractive. He
tells us our sin de jour will bring us satisfaction, and it will – for a
season. He tells us there won’t be any serious consequences, and sometimes
there aren’t – for a while. He tells us it’s only a little sin, and it is – at first.
Before long, we’re tangled
up in a sticky situation. We’ve become Satan’s prey. When we realize where our
choices have taken us, we may struggle against them; try to break the
addiction, try to avoid the pitfalls, try to deny the flesh, but the bonds that
hold us are stronger than they seem. We need a deliverer.
Praise God we have one!
Romans 8 makes it clear that all who repent of their sinful choices and put
their faith and hope in Christ’s death and resurrection have been set free from
the law of sin and death. We’ve been rescued from sin’s web by our Deliverer,
our Redeemer. We may choose to run back to sin, from time to time, but we are
no longer slaves to sin (Romans 6:7). The law of the Holy Spirit in us not only
sets us free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:2), but makes us slaves of
righteousness (Romans 6:18).
Though we may fall into
sin’s trap – for a season, Christ in us intervenes. God sees our struggle and
empowers us to break sin’s bonds. Satan is defeated and we’re freed from the
wed of sin’s deceit.
“It was for freedom that Christ set us free;
therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to
a yoke of slavery.”
– Galatians 5:1
Today
a gray haze blankets the earth. Things normally clear are suddenly distorted,
obscure silhouettes of commonplace items. Oncoming cars emerge, headlights
first, from their cloudy veil. I slow down. It would be so easy to careen into
an unseen car. I creep along with an unsettling uncertainty of what to expect
ahead.
I
can’t help but think of friends who are still lost souls. They’re peering into
the future as if through a pea-soup fog. They see nothing but an impermeable
grey cloud ahead, I hear it in their voices. They live each day with an
unsettling uncertainty, consumed with worry and worn out with life’s cares or
eating, drinking and making merry because they see nothing beyond the grave.
Even as a believer, it can be difficult to grapple with my own immortality. How
much more difficult to face inevitable death without confidence in Christ. Most
of us, if we could, would slow life and time down by the sheer force of our
wills. But time marches on.
I
try to explain the gospel to my friends, as best I’m able. (I wish I could
carry Alistair Begg around in my back pocket. He explains it all so clearly.) I
try to serve them well — to be Jesus’ hands and feet in the middle of their
trials. People usually see a difference in me. I know because they comment on
it. I wish they could understand it’s not me, but Christ in me, who makes me
the person I am. Jesus is the light that shines through me. He wants to be the
set of headlights piercing through their fog, too.
When
Isaiah prophesied about God’s Son coming to earth, he said, “the people who
walk in darkness will see a great light.” (Isaiah 9:2a) Jesus proclaimed
Himself to be the Light of the World. (John 8:12) But not every person who saw
Jesus saw the light. Most just saw Jesus the teacher, the healer, the man. Only
a handful saw Jesus the Lord, the Shepherd, the Messiah. Right now, I’m afraid many
of my friends can see Jesus, but not the light.
So
I keep praying for them. I pray God will open their eyes to see Jesus as the
Light of their world. I pray they will humble themselves and pray for God’s
mercy and grace. I pray they will finally find perfect peace and rest in
Christ’s sacrifice alone.
“The steadfast of mind You
will keep in perfect peace, because he trusts in You.” (Isaiah26:3)
Today
a road trip takes me through Fifield, Wisconsin (As they’d say on Hee-Haw…
Saaaaa-lute!) Before I cross the bridge over the South Fork of the Flambeau
River, I glance at the small rustic wayside that doubles as a put-in for paddlers.
I smile at the memory playing on my mind’s movie screen.
It was a chilly May day, nearly 25 years ago, when my friend and I slipped our Old Town canoe into the cold, churning waters. The Flambeau looked like a root beer river that had worked up a good head of foam. Despite the constant drizzle, we were thrilled when the current grabbed our canoe and carried us downstream. We talked and laughed and shared our hopes and dreams. Hours later, when we reached Slough Gundy and set up camp, we were drenched. Tin foil dinners on the campfire chased the chills away and we slept soundly to the low rumble of Flambeau Falls.
The next morning, my friend had nothing to wear but her wet, clammy jeans. I couldn’t blame her when she wouldn’t put them on. Talk about an instant icicle! Out of desperation, she put on the only dry pants available… my dad’s long johns. They didn’t exactly fit. As soon as she let go, they dropped to her ankles. As former wilderness trip leaders, we knew how to improvise. We took some blue nylon rope, shaped it into something akin to a rappelling harness, and tied it as tightly as possible around her waist. It was all good — until our portage took us past two young men dressed like a page out of the latest Patagonia catalog. They gave us a quick once-over. I wish I could have been a fly on their gunnel as they headed out of earshot!
Their look was nothing compared to the look my dad gave us at the end of the trip. Somewhere between Cedar Rapids and Beaver Dam, on a stretch of river we’d both maneuvered umpteen times, we managed to swamp. Drenched took on a whole new meaning. When my dear friend stepped out at the landing, our “chauffeur” burst into uninhibited laughter. His white, waffle weave long johns were sagging to her knees, the blue rope now losing its battle to keep them up. There was nothing to do but laugh with him. It was the unexpectedly perfect ending to a great weekend.
I miss my friend. We live four states apart, distanced by miles and years of not seeing each other. But I know we could pick our friendship up again, anytime, right where we left off. Such friends are rare. They’re a true treasure. To each of them I would say, “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my every prayer for you all.” (Philippians 1:3,4)
Today’s blog is a departure from my usual theme; looking at the astounding ways our Creator reveals Himself through His creation.
Fair warning: I’m unabashedly editorializing here, voicing a passionate opinion you are welcome to disagree with. All I ask is that you give it sincere consideration.
I might get preachy. I know that’s unkosher in the Christian publishing world these days, but God’s okay with it. To quote Paul (inspired by God), “How will they hear without a preacher?” (Romans 10:14)
This is a message for the Baby Boomers and Gen Xers, especially those of us who are part of fairly large, contemporary churches. I want to be heard, so I’m not couching my words.
When we were kids, church was decidedly church. The
sanctuary was a sacred place, a place that warranted reverence. People arrived
early and sat quietly, prayerfully preparing for worship. It was a special
place to meet with God.
We sang hymns, without amplifiers. Everyone sang, because “make a joyful noise unto the Lord” (Psalm 100:1) trumped professionalism. It was corporate worship.
The whole counsel of God’s word was preached. We heard the parts that were pleasant: about God’s love and grace and mercy. We heard the parts that were unpleasant: about God’s judgment and wrath and fearsomeness. We knew following God required repentance, holy living, and sometimes suffering, not just enjoying the perks of Christ’s shed blood.
Far more importantly, our parents lived out a
sincere faith at home. They practiced what they preached. They sacrificed
material goods to teach us God is worthy of His portion. They sacrificed time
to teach us to serve others. Sometimes they sacrificed their own happiness to
teach us the importance of keeping a vow – and that God always keeps His. If
they didn’t live their faith out, we didn’t take it seriously. We walked away
from church when we left home, at least for a time.
Anyway, at some point we decided the way our parents “did church” wasn’t very appealing to us, or to outsiders. So, we started to “do church” differently, to make it more appealing.
Some good came from it, no doubt. But somewhere along the line we forgot Jesus is “a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense.” (1 Peter 2:8) The pendulum swung to the other extreme. Many of our evangelical churches are now more like entertainment venues than places of worship.
We chat in the in-house coffee shop until service has started, showing up late with coffee and donut in hand. We congregate in an auditorium, not a sanctuary, and the amplified music, performed by semi-professional musicians, drowns out the congregation’s corporate voice. There’s no sense that we’ve come to a sacred place expecting to meet with God.
We hear the nice parts of God’s Word. The hard parts are, more often than not, glossed over. The gospel is presented without a call to repentance, without a warning to count the cost. And there’s no mention of hell. While I don’t advocate scaring people into the sheepfold, I do think we should warn them about the forever torment waiting for those who reject God. Jesus did. Isn’t it rather cruel not to?
At this point we have to ask ourselves the most important question. Do we live out a sincere faith at home? Do we lead by example? Do we sacrifice material goods so God receives what He’s due? Do we sacrifice our time to serve others? Are we willing to give up our personal happiness to keep the vows we make, and so demonstrate God’s faithfulness? If not, our children won’t take this faith we claim seriously. They’ll walk away as soon as they have an opportunity, at least for a time.
Anyway, most people in our generation are content with the way we “do church.” The generations coming up behind us are not.
They aren’t looking for another entertainment venue. They want church to be church. They want worship to be worship. They want tradition and traditional music. They’re looking for truth, the whole truth. They want to be where God is reverenced. The pendulum is swinging once again.
The problem is, we aren’t paying attention. We’re
forging ahead under the misguided notion we’re giving them what they want and
need. We think we’re being relevant. Sadly, we are not. So, they’re leaving us
to get their spiritual needs met elsewhere.
Some leave church altogether. Some land in
traditional churches that have sound teaching. Some find themselves in
traditional churches that are not “correctly handling the word of truth.” (2
Timothy 2:15, NIV) We can only pray they have the discernment to know the
difference.
How do I know? We have four adult children. One walked away from church altogether, at least for the time being. Two are attending traditional churches that are very unlike the church they grew up in. The youngest is 19. We’re still waiting to see what choices she’ll make when she leaves home.
And, research bears it out. If you do a little digging online, you’ll find our family represents a nationwide trend.
So, what can we do?
There’s a simple way to address the problem. Swing with the pendulum back toward the middle. We don’t have to force our young adults to look elsewhere for a traditional church experience. We can offer it to them right where they are.
But are we willing to change? Are we, the older generation, willing to sacrifice our Sunday morning worship preferences for the spiritual well-being of those coming behind us? Will we adapt, or will they be forced to foist changes on us the way we did on our parents?
The changes younger believers seek to meet their spiritual
needs are good changes. They’re healthy for the church.
We would all benefit from more reverence, from preparing for worship, from singing more hymns that are rich in theological content. We would all benefit from deeper teaching, a better understanding of who God is in all His glory, and a solid grip on the basic tenants of the faith.
If we’ll follow their lead, the ones coming behind us have the potential to help us find a healthy spiritual balance between the undo legalism of the past and the undo liberty of the present. They could very well bring us back to the “chief end of man” and core purpose of the church, “to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” (Westminster Shorter Catechism)
Today the heavy, humid air carries the promise of afternoon
thunderstorms. I pull out my bike and get on the road while the skies are still
mostly blue.
As I ride, I notice the leaves on certain trees have flipped over.
Their high gloss surfaces are bowing toward the ground, revealing their matte undersides.
One particular bush shows off the silvery hue on the backside of its leaves.
Unless I make the effort to take a closer look, I only see this silver lining when
rain is on its way.
I did a little hunting to find out why certain trees are prone to showing
the backs of their leaves during stormy weather. Here’s what the Farmer’s
Almanac had to say:
Before a cold front arrives with its clouds and rains, the
wind is often from the southwest. With the wind in this direction, the plant or
tree orients itself to get optimum sunlight, and the leaves are in an unstable
position with respect to the wind moving past them. This instability makes the
leaves flip over. The unstable leaves then foretell the approach of a cold
front which is likely to bring rain.
I try to draw
the parallels, find the teaching point God has hidden in the overturned leaves.
I like the idea of being oriented to the light; of reaching to maximize our
exposure to God. But the idea of being unstable and vulnerable in this position
doesn’t seem to work. Shouldn’t we be more stable when we’re reaching for God?
But the more
I think about it, the more I believe this is a picture of who we are
when we draw near to God. The more we reach toward Him, the more He shows us
our own weaknesses and shortcomings. The more He humbles us. It can make us
feel a little unstable, shake our confidence.
Which is
exactly where we need to be to enjoy the best of God’s blessing. When we are
unstable in ourselves, we look to God for our stability. Or, as Paul put it,
“For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:10b)
Like the leaves humbly
yielding to the passing wind’s force, we find ourselves humbly bowing to God’s
power as He moves through our lives. Though it can be a bit unsettling, it’s a
good thing! Our weaknesses are really our greatest strengths – one of the many
paradoxes in scripture. When we can’t, God can. He longs to prove Himself
mighty in our lives. I’m so thankful God reassures us in 2 Corinthians 12:9:
“And He (God) has said to me, “My
grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about
my weaknesses, so that the power of
Christ may dwell in me.
Today a blanket of gray-blue clouds slowly rolls east while the sun sinks on the western horizon. Diffused sunlight, my friend calls it “God light,” pierces through the gray rain curtain and is diffused once again. We drive toward the rain, heading home from a long day, and watch the intermingling water and light paint a double rainbow in the evening sky. It begins as only a partial arch, but gradually grows into a complete rainbow, a celestial overpass spanning the highway ahead.
As
we race ever closer to the rainbow, we begin to clearly see one end of it
casting its multi-colored light on the golden wheat fields and summer-green
forests. What looked like plain, old yellow-hued sunlight just moments ago is
now a full-color display.
I
wonder how Noah reacted when he saw that very first rainbow. It’s a treat for
me to see one, but a treat I have enjoyed several times each summer throughout
my life. Noah was about 600 years old before he saw his first rainbow. It must have
been quite an amazing sight — all that color splashed on a dreary backdrop of
gray water and sky! And Noah didn’t have modern science to explain how light waves
have different lengths, to which God assigned different colors, some of which
are invisible to the unaided human eye. He only saw something beautiful and
miraculous in the heavens.
And
that it was, a beautiful, miraculous sign from God. The rainbow symbolism has
been hi-jacked by certain special interest groups in recent years. But in
Genesis 9, God proclaimed it a sign of His promise to never flood the entire earth
again.
“And
it shall come about, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow will be
seen in the cloud, and I will remember My covenant which is between Me, and
you, and every living creature of all flesh; and never again shall the water
become a flood to destroy all flesh. (Genesis 9:14-15)
You
know, I always thought the rainbow appeared to remind us of God’s
promise. I find it intriguing that God says it is a reminder to Him. Surely God
could never forget any of His promises. He’s the only one I can always count on
to keep a promise. Maybe when His patience with human shenanigans is wearing
thin, considers raining down judgment… quite literally! Then He remembers the rainbow and holds back.
But
God will not be patient forever. He’s made another promise, one we don’t like
to talk about as much. He’s promised to return and judge all mankind and this earth.
God will keep His promise not to flood it again, but it will be destroyed.
“But
the day of the Lord will come like a thief, in which the heavens will pass away
with a roar and the elements will be destroyed with intense heat, and the earth
and it works will be burned up.” (II Peter 3:10)
God
never breaks a promise.
Pretty sobering, right? Well, the story doesn’t end there. There’s one more promise that gives this story a happy ending.
All who love and follow God can look forward to the new heaven and the new earth God will create for our eternal home – an earth free from sin and its trappings. You can read about it in Revelation 21:1-4. And that’s a promise!
Today we plant our two small raised beds between cloud bursts. Usually I have plants in by now, but the cool and rainy spring delayed the season. We line up our plants and get started.
This year’s “garden” will be a breeze compared to those in years past. One year, in a moment of inexplicable insanity, we planted our entire fenced in area… about 340 square feet. Compared to the 1-acre garden my grandpa used to plant, it was relatively small. Compared to the average family garden today, it’s pretty big.
By
the end of that year I had picked, packed and pickled gallons of beans, pickles
and peppers. I had chopped, blanched and frozen ample corn, beans, zucchini and
broccoli. There were tomatoes in the freezer, and in jars, and on the window
sill, and in salsa. And I’d given away enough vegetables to feed a small
country. Even the stuff that was buggy, or spoiled, or frost-nipped didn’t go
to waste. We had chickens. Chickens will eat almost anything.
I think I suffered burn out! God
provided three years’ worth of harvest last year, so I asked Pete if we could
declare a year of Jubilee. He agreed. That was three years ago.
God
remembers, though we sometimes forget, we do need rest from time to time. From
creation, the Father has provided sunlight for a good day’s work. After a good
day’s work (or night’s work, for those who work second or third shift) it’s
good to rest.
God
also set aside the Sabbath so we could rest, and rest in Him, one day each
week. “Remember the sabbath day to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and
do all your work, but the seventh is a sabbath of the Lord your God; in it you
shall not do any work…” (Exodus
20:8-10a)
Then
God ordained seasons of planting and harvest so field work would not be
endless. And every 49 years, provision was made for His people, even the soil
itself, to rest from toil. In the year of Jubilee the fields were left fallow.
Better yet, debts were forgiven, slaves were freed and ancestral lands were
returned to their rightful owners. No wonder it was also known as the year of
liberty!
Our
teeny tiny garden is planted in record time. I walk away with a jubilant bounce
in my step, thinking of the other projects I’ll have time to work on because
the garden will not be all-consuming. These three years of jubilee (yes, I know
that’s a couple more than God set aside), of rest and liberty from hard labor,
will renew my body… but not forever. Next year all our canned goods will be
used up and it will be time to take on the big garden again.
God
gives us brief bodily reprieves here on earth – and they’re good! The eternal
rest and liberty our souls enjoy in Christ are oh-so-much better. Once we decide
to follow Christ, we live a life of jubilee… freed from sin’s tyranny and
welcomed to rest in Him. “Thus says the Lord, ‘Stand by the ways and see and
ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, and walk in it; and you will
find rest for your souls.” (Jeremiah
6:16)
Today
I wander through a stand of hardwoods. There are trilliums everywhere, as far
as the eye can see, bold and showy and white as freshly laundered linens. In
the sun-drenched sea of triune trilliums, one catches my eye, like a perfectly
placed accidental in Debussy. One trillium dares to be different, sporting four
petals rather than the standard three.
I move in for a closer look, regretting I don’t have my camera in hand. I’ll add this to my mental checklist of plants that defy their names: white birdfoot “violets”, native Wisconsin prickly pear (don’t cacti belong in a desert?), and tamaracks –the “evergreens” that turn gold in the fall and drop their needles.
I’ve always had an affinity for natural anomalies. Maybe it’s because I’ve always felt like one myself. Only 2% of the population has red hair. Only 7% of the population has blue eyes. I have both, the rarest combination of all, occurring in only 1% of the world’s population.
According
to Myers-Brigg, my personality type is INFP. That means I’m a sleeping volcano,
usually subdued but capable of passionate eruptions over the things I value and
believe. I love people and avoid people, depending on my mood. I enjoy long,
quiet hours just thinking, feeling, observing, and creating. Only about 2% of
all people share these qualities.
Probably
because of my personality bent, I prefer whitewater canoeing, cooking over the
fire and fishing to shopping, decorating (and cleaning) my home and long days
at the spa. What can I say? I’m a misfit!
Sometimes being a misfit leaves me feeling lonely and misunderstood. My friends, bless their souls, love me as I am whether they really understand me or not. Only the other misfits, eccentrics, and non-conformists in my life feed my need to “belong.” We are the four-petaled trilliums, white violets, and needle-shedding tamaracks; unique and somewhat isolated in a forest of social conformity.
Most of the time, however, I’m content, comfortable in my own skin. I am true to who God created me to be. I don’t pretend to be someone or something I’m not. Nor do I believe God would want me to. He created this red-headed, blue-eyed introvert for His own special purposes. He asks only that I surrender my will to His, and allow Him to make the me that I am more like Christ. When no one else understands, God does. When no one else knows my heart, God does. When no one else is nearby, God is.
O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar. You scrutinize my path and my lying down, And are intimately acquainted with all my ways. (Psalm 139:1-3)
If you’re like me, feeling like you don’t quite fit in, I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. Don’t be discouraged. God is with you. He understands. He intentionally created the you that you are, and uniquely equipped you to accomplish things for His kingdom that no one could do better than you. Seek Him, His kingdom and His righteousness. He promises to pile on additional blessings when we put Him first.
